


Surviving is Second

by captaintinymite (augopher)



Series: Belief is a Two Way Street [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Brotp breakup, Fix-It, Leaving Home, M/M, Season 5 Finale, Stilinski Family Feels, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, new pack, sort of canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4658883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/captaintinymite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fight with Scott and Theo's attack on Sheriff, Stiles finally puts his needs first and gets out of Beacon Hills at his father's urging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surviving is Second

**Author's Note:**

> Ask box prompt from [bistiles](http://bistiles.tumblr.com),who was more than okay with me changing it to Brotp breakup:  
> In which Stiles and Derek have fights over something (maybe reckless behavior, idk). And one of them keeps expecting the other to change, but they never do. It ends up in a messy break up/fight/whatever. They get back together/okay somehow..  
> Using #3."Tired of wasted breath, tired of nothing left"
> 
> Lyric comes from Breaking Benjamin's,["Failure"](https://youtu.be/2B8bXYXTb-o) which inspired this fic big time
> 
> Sequel to ["Belief is the First Step"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4400732)
> 
> See end of fic notes for Portuguese translation

Stiles’ ears perked up at the sound of the hospital door opening. He didn’t need werewolf senses to know who it was. Only one person he knew opened a door that timid, lurked in doorways quite like that. “Sorry, this is the I.C.U.. Family only.” Stiles didn’t even turn around to look at him, but knew he’d find Scott’s face scrunched up like a contrite puppy.

He didn’t care.

“What do you mean we’re not family? Of course we are. We’re brothers remember?”

Stiles sighed. “No, Scott, we’re not.” He gave his dad’s hand a squeeze, looked at the monitors to check his vitals, and stood, walking out of the room.

Scott followed him, and Stiles tried not to laugh at the cruel irony of that, because there was a time not so long ago, in fact, where he would have followed Scott anywhere, even if that included a puddle of gasoline and a lit flare.

“What do you want, Scott?” he asked in the relative quiet of the hallway.

“You were right, about Theo.”

He narrowed his eyes at him, nostrils flared, anger rising. After a beat to calm his racing heart, he glared at him. “I know; I’m well aware of that.”

“You should have told me about Donovan.”

“Were you trying to apologize to me or scold me some more?” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest. “Because you don’t start an apology by blaming someone else. I hate to break it to you, Scott. I tried telling you. What do you think I was attempting to do when we were discussing how Kira tried to kill Lucas, and I kept talking about the point when self-defense is justified? You shut me down with that whole ‘We can’t kill the people we are trying to save.’ Well, I don’t know about you, but I was trying to save myself.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You know he told me that he wasn’t going to kill me, just eat my legs? Funny thing is, had I let him eat them, I’d have been on that floor with two severed femoral arteries. Do you really think an ambulance was going to get to me in the three minutes it would take for me to bleed to death?”

When he received no response, Stiles dropped his head, taking deep breaths, before he could say something too caustic to take back. The sad thing was, Stiles wanted to say all those things, to let out in the open everything he’d held in for years: all the insecurities, the petty jealousy, the anger, the pain- but…what good would that do? “Would you feel better if I hadn’t committed justifiable homicide, if I were dead?”

Scott looked appalled. “Of course not!”

“I killed him and became the pack pariah. If I didn’t, I’d be dead, leaving my dad completely alone in this world, floundering trying to piece his life back together  _again_. Tell me, what was I supposed to do, Scott?” He rubbed his forehead. “Because I don’t heal like you. My bones don’t magically snap back into place. My skin doesn’t knit itself together.”

“We don’t kill people, but you should have told me.”

Stiles shrugged. “I didn’t know you didn’t know the truth, and you didn’t know I didn’t know you’d been sold a load of bullshit.” He chewed on his thumbnail for a beat. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“What? What are you-”

Resigned, Stiles sighed. “I’m tired Scott, tired of wasted breath, tired of nothing left after each one of these supernatural super villains we face. How long until I have given everything? How long ‘til I have  _lost_  everything? You come out of these battles, a hero, a legend, and I come out broken, bloodied, and scarred- just the weird kid of the sheriff who no one listens to, who old men kidnap and beat up, the kid who got himself possessed and ran a sword into his best friend, the kid who got his friend killed.” He licked his lips. “You don’t trust me. You don’t listen to my concerns about possible threats, and after seeing how easily Theo’s words swayed you, I can’t trust your judgment. How can two people possibly be friends if they don’t trust each other?”

“Stiles, don’t do this.”

Sniffling, he ran his tongue across his teeth. “You know, I could probably have forgiven you for not trusting me that I hadn’t killed someone in cold blood, when I said I had no choice. We might have been able to get past that, which says a whole lot about how much I value myself. But you didn’t listen to me about Theo. You didn’t trust me  _again_ , and he almost killed my dad. If you had just taken a little bit longer before deciding Theo was just what the pack needed, my dad wouldn’t be in the ICU. Because the only way Theo was sure I wouldn’t go help you was if I had to choose to save my dad. Even after you ripped my fucking heart out, Theo knew I would still try to help you.” He threw up his hands in frustration, this time running them both through his hair.

“If you hadn’t trusted him, you wouldn’t have been in that library. You wouldn’t have accepted an inhaler full of wolfsbane from him. You wouldn’t have been isolated from the pack; you wouldn’t have been alone. Your blind trust in him almost made me an orphan, and I will never forgive you for that.”

“How can you be so passive about this? How can you be so calm?” Scott looked like a kicked puppy, but Stiles was resolute, an immovable force.

“Because I’m flat out of fucks to give. I am a fragile human who will need to get his hands dirty to save himself and his dad, and you’re the True Alpha who sees the world in black and white. Our morals are  _never_  going to align.”

“You’re my brother, and I need you.”

Stiles patted him on the shoulder. “No, you don’t. You need someone you can trust, and that’s not me. Good luck though. I hope you  _are_  able to save everyone. See you around, Scotty.” He turned around and walked back into his father’s hospital room, where he found his dad awake and staring at him in great regard. “What?”

“I’m proud of the way you handled that.  Very mature.”

“That’s me, Pops, Mr. Mature,” his sarcasm was palpable. “I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw punches.” He forced a smile onto his face. “So, how are you feeling?”

“Like I got attacked by a chimera.”

Stiles nodded. “Well, that’s good, because you  _were_  attacked by a chimera. Glad the symptoms match up.”

His dad laughed and then winced as the movement pulled on his stitches. “Take it easy on your old man.” He pointed to an envelope on his bedside table.

Picking it up, Stiles’ brows knit in confusion. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

Inside, was a pair of plane tickets with an airport code he did not recognize. “GRU- Where’s that?”

“Brazil.”

Stiles’ lip quivered. “You’re want me to leave?”

“No, I want you to get out, to survive. I have an emergency credit card I rarely use, and I had you added. It’s good internationally, and as long as you don’t bleed me dry, I’ll pay the bill for a while. I have a copy of your official transcript if you want to enroll in school, and I won’t even judge you if you don’t. Listen, I’d love for you to stay. Really, I would, but… you know that ‘perceptive eye for evil’ you’re always talking about? I’m starting to suspect there’s more to your supernatural threat detection than meets the eye.”

“Me too.” He licked his lips.

“How long before those damn Dread Doctors come after you? I can’t take that chance.”

“So, you want to me to go to a foreign country, whose language I don’t speak, where I don’t know anyone?”

His dad shook his head. “Absolutely not. I made some calls. There is a pack there that could use someone like you: Someone who is right, more often than not, about the bad seeds. Their emissary is getting on in years, and you’d fit right in.”

“Did you miss the part where I don’t know anyone there.”

“Don’t pass judgement till you go there and see for yourself. I don’t care how long you’re gone, if you stay away for days, weeks, even years. I just want you to thrive, and you are never going to do that here. Don’t make me bury you too, Kid.” He motioned for his son to come in for a hug. “Easy. I don’t know if you heard, but I was attacked by a chimera.”

Stiles’ laugh was muffled by his father’s shoulder. “What makes you think I will fit in there?”

“I have a very perceptive eye too, Son. Trust me. You’ll be happy there.”

 

*****

 

Stiles cleaved to his carry-on, knuckles white where he clasped the handle. He’d heard stories of how people lost luggage, got mugged in or near airports, and he did not want to be one of them. In his pocket, he had two index cards upon which, in his haste, he'd scribbled several phrases in Portuguese.  _Google, I sure hope you don’t let me down…again._

His body ached with exhaustion, the nineteen hour flight taking its toll on his already world-weary frame.

Good-byes were always hard, and this one had been no exception. Lydia cried when he told her he was leaving, that he just couldn’t stay and wait to get slaughtered. She agreed, but held him tight nonetheless. Malia, well, they had been growing apart for weeks. It was for the best, really. His heart belonged to another, and it would never be hers. Liam offered a brave handshake, but Stiles could see he was breaking inside. For as much as Stiles professed not to like the kid in the beginning, he’d become sort of a younger brother, and if he was being honest with himself, didn’t see him bending to fit Scott’s rules either, though, maybe with Mason’s help, he’d be just fine.

His dad had been the hardest to leave. Freshly home from the hospital, Stiles was reluctant to just leave him to his own devices, but Melissa promised to keep an eye on him, make sure he ate his vegetables. His dad even confessed that he’d become an expert at Skype,  so they wouldn’t really be that far away at all. He’d told him to be safe, bought more sunscreen than one person would conceivably use before it expired, packed a decent hat and good hiking boots, and they’d said a tearful farewell in Sacramento.

Stiles looked around. He really stuck out like a sore thumb. How long would it be until he looked like a lobster? He wasn’t looking forward to finding out. Something told him beach season would not be a high point of his stay. Although… if he learned to surf, he could rock a wet suit (definitely, most likely, probably…eh 50/50).

Near the International Arrivals gate, he saw a man holding a sign with his name on it. “Eu sou Stiles. É você Alpha Nascimento?” On second thought, now that he asked, the guy looked much too young to be the head of an old pack, but meh, you play they hand you’re dealt.

“Não, essa é minha mãe. Eu sou, Beto.”

“Beto the beta? Really? Wow. Talk about hiding in plain sight.” Stiles was hesitant to follow him, but his dad seemed pretty convinced of this pack’s good intentions. They waited for his larger suitcase at baggage claim in silence, for which Stiles was a little grateful.

Luggage retrieved, they continued at a brisk pace towards the exit. Stiles felt emboldened and decided to strike up conversation…so long as it only contained things on his cards. “Onde é que o pacote de viver?”

Beto stopped, gave him a very strange look, and smirked. Ahead of them, sat a newsstand, and Stiles watched him walk up and buy a book.

When he returned, he shoved it into Stiles’ chest. Rude. What the- “ _Portuguese for Tourists_? Are you saying my Portuguese is bad?”

He turned around with the biggest grin on his face. “Yes. It’s terrible. You just asked me ‘where does the package of lives? I can only guess you were asking where the pack lives. We live in Paraty.”

“Wait! You speak English? Why didn’t you say anything”

Beto shrugged. “They told me you like sarcasm.” He winked and continued walking.

“That wasn’t sarcasm!”

“No, but it was funny. Don’t worry. The whole pack at least knows a little English. The emissary, Fernanda, she’s from Chile. She speaks Spanish. But we have a beta who’s fluent. He can help you.”

Affronted, Stiles stopped and stared at his back as he walked away. “Wait! Who’s ‘they’?”

Beto grabbed the suitcase from Stiles and shoved it into the trunk of his small car. “Our two American betas. Now, I hope you do not get car sickness, because we have four hours to drive.”

Stiles quirked an eyebrow…four hours? Someone shoot him.

 

*****

 

By the time they arrived, the late afternoon sun had dipped low on the horizon. Stiles opened the car door and gawked. The beach house that stood before him was not only huge, but gorgeous, and the water in the cove, clearer than any he’d ever seen. He felt like he’d walked into a tropical paradise, and in some ways he had. He was just about to pick his jaw up off the ground when he felt a playful shove to his back.

“Go. I am hungry and Tia Regina is cooking feijoada.”

“What’s-” Stiles was cut off as he suddenly found himself wrapped in a crushing hug. “What the?” He couldn’t do anything except hug the guy back, and well…he’d know those shoulders anywhere. “Derek? You’re the American beta?”

“Well, Cora too. Don’t sound so shocked,” he said into the crook of Stiles’ neck.

“Well, I am shocked. I am  _very_  shocked. You’ve never hugged me before. In fact, I’ve never seen you hug anyone. Wait.” He stepped back and poked Derek in the sternum. “My dad knew how to contact you, but I didn’t?”

“I consulted on a few things for him, and he kept me filled in on the pack. I thought it was better for all of you, if my baggage wasn’t following you around anymore.”

“Things got pretty bad anyway. You might have heard. We could have used your help.  _I_  could have used your help. I’ve had a lot of people I lo- care about walk away from me lately, and-”

“Oh, is this our future emissary, the one who likes to talk?” a voice, one that had been around for quite a while called out, and this time, instead of pulling him into a hug like a vice-grip the way Derek had, she just kissed his cheeks, not once, or twice, but three times. What.the.hell?

“Sim, Vovó Dorothéia.”

Stiles couldn’t help but feel like he was being assessed by the way the elderly woman regarded him: Shrewd, like one studies a dense bit of text.

“Ah, ele é bem gatinho.”

And damn it, Derek actually blushed. Wait a minute. “Hey! I understood some of that. I am not cute.”

Chuckling, the old woman and Beto walked inside, leaving Derek and Stiles alone outside. “I missed you.”

“You still left.”

Derek had the nerve to look ashamed. “You’re going to like it here.” He stepped into Stiles’ space.

“Oh yeah? Why is that?”

“You didn’t really belong in Beacon Hills, but you’ll be appreciated here.” When their eyes met, Stiles could see the things Derek wasn’t saying, that maybe he couldn’t say. It didn’t matter. Stiles finally understood what his dad had meant by ‘perceptive eye as well’. “I’m glad you got out of there before it killed you. I’m just sorry you had to kill before you got out of there.” He raised his hand towards Stiles’ cheek, hesitating in mid-air, waiting for…permission?

Stiles leaned into the touch and sighed, his eyes closed at the too-fresh memory of the blood on his hands. “Me too.”

The soft, tentative press of lips against his own brought him out of his head, but he didn’t dare open his eyes, for fear he was imagining the whole thing. It was over too soon, and Stiles would definitely need an encore performance (or several much lengthier encores if he was being honest).

“And Stiles?” Derek mumbled against his lips.

“Mhmm?”

“You _are_ cute; you are very cute.”

“M’not.”

“Shut up.”

Stiles could feel him smile against his skin. “Make me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translation:  
> Eu sou Stiles. É você Alpha Nascimento? - I’m Stiles. Are you Alpha Nascimento? (Purposely left the way google translated it)
> 
> Não, essa é minha mãe. Eu sou, Beto. - No, that’s my mother. I’m Beto
> 
> Onde é que o pacote de viver - This really does mean ‘where does the package of lives?’ Ah the mistranslating adventures of google.
> 
> Sim, Vovó Dorothéia - Yes, Grandma Dorothéia 
> 
> Ah, ele é bem gatinho.- Ah, he’s very cute
> 
> Thanks [Alis](http://bistiles.tumblr.com) for the translation
> 
>  
> 
> **Come visit me on [tumblr](http://captaintinymite.tumblr.com)


End file.
